Seductive Song Phics for the Phantom Lover's Soul
by xSweet Allure
Summary: A collection of EC song phics, all of which are inspired by some of today's best known artists! Panic! At the Disco, All American Rejects, Goo Goo Dolls, Snow Patrol and many more! Open to requests!
1. I Write Sins, Not Tragedies

**Disclaimer: **If I had owned the Phantom of the Opera, I wouldn't have made Christine choose Raoul. I'd have her choose Erik. But sadly, Christine then finds out that she has been unfortunately replaced by a much kinder, more understanding Christine (me!) and Erik couldn't be happier. But I don't own Phantom, so my fantasies will remain mere fantasies. Humph! Bother… Oh, and I don't own "I Write Sins, Not Tragedies" by Panic! At the Disco. Can't forget about them!

**A/N**: This story is set about 6 months after the 2004 movie has ended, and although Philippe is only a character that was used in the original PotO novel, I felt the overwhelming need to use him in here. In that case, I don't own Philippe either.

I Write Sins, Not Tragedies

By The Sweet Allure of Lady Red Death

A One-shot, song-fic

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She twisted the ring self-consciously around her finger. The reflection of its breath-taking diamond glittered radiantly, as it caught the soft light of the afternoon sun. The light continued to brighten up the room through a giant, stained glass window. Her large, brown eyes widened as she took in the sight before her.

"Why, Miss Daae, aren't you a pretty thing?" Madame Giry smiled, fixing the train of Christine's dress, so that it fell nicely behind her. "The Victome will be pleased."

The dress was white, made of satin and lace. It fitted Christine perfectly, as it should of. The gown had been tailored to her very measurements. It spread out around her like the delicate petals of a flower. It flowed gracefully, like a rippling stream of fine fabric. Christine had exquisite taste and a wonderfully acute eye for detail. Picking her wedding dress was, surprisingly, one of the most easiest decisions that she had ever made.

Untamed dark tresses spilled down her back and fell over her shoulders, contrasting dramatically with her porcelain complexion. Christine gave a coy smile to the mirror and reached up to adjust her veil. Once doing so, Christine dropped her hands to her sides and gently gripped the border of white puff.

"Madame," she whispered, "if you don't mind…I'd like to have a moment alone."

Madame Giry looked up from her fixations. She blinked dazedly at Christine, who blushed and turned her head away. "Cold feet, my dear?"

Christine looked over her shoulder. "No, of course not," she assured, looking back into the mirror. "I'd just like some time to myself before the wedding." Her voice sounded forlorn, even to her.

Madame Giry placed her hands politely in her lap and nodded. "I understand." She lifted herself up off the floor and made her way towards to door. "You look lovely, child," she stressed again, grasping the brass door knob and closing the aperture smoothly behind her.

Christine let out a deep sigh as she heard the lock click. Sluggishly, she made her way over to the sofa and plopped down on it with a respectable '_oof_'

So this was it…her wedding day. The moments leading up to this day were nothing but joyous. Christine couldn't wait for _this day_. So, then…why did she feel so _empty_?

* * *

Raoul's blue eyes seemed to sparkle with joy as he straightened out his black bow-tie and cleared his throat. He then swiftly exited the room and made his way down to the alter. Philippe would be waiting for him there. Philippe had rescheduled all of the family business just to attend this wonderful affair. Not only that, but he was Raoul's best man as well. 

One hour to the wedding. Raoul's smile broadened. He turned into another passageway and swiftly walked down the hall. Raoul had now reached the pews in the church corridor. He could see Philippe chatting with Meg Giry. They were standing over near the pipe organ; a glass of red wine was resting in Philippe's hand.

Raoul could hear their faint discourse, something along the lines of Meg warning Philippe not to spill on the church carpet.

'…_it's holy territory… to do so would be an absolute sin… this is God's house!' _

Raoul laughed to himself and walked down the aisle towards them.

_Oh, well imagine; as I'm pacing the pews in a church corridor,  
And I can't help but to hear, no I can't help but to hear an exchanging of words:  
"What a beautiful wedding!", "What a beautiful wedding!" says a bridesmaid to a waiter.  
"And yes, but what a shame, what a shame, the poor groom's bride is a whore."_

"So, you're a close friend of Miss Daae's? Yes, well she's a swell girl, I'm sure."

Meg nodded her assent. "Yes, Christine and I are dear friends," she replied, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her left ear. "Isn't this exciting? Your brother's getting married. I'm sure you must be proud of him."

Philippe glanced around the church. "I trust my brother and his judge of character. However," he paused, suddenly becoming a bit dark, "with the past publicity of our town's Opera House…tell me, Miss Giry, how close was Christine _really_ to the—what was he called, some ridiculous nickname, I remember—Opera Ghost?"

Meg, unable to comprehend at first, asked, "What do you mean, Monsieur?"

"I had heard from my brother sometime back, that Christine had feelings for the tragically deformed man. I was absolutely appalled once I had read that he was a murderer and also, as Raoul's informed me, had set his heart on killing him! Out of jealousy, I heard."

Meg's face suddenly became one of absolute disgust. "What are you implying, sir? That Christine is both insane and indecisive for even considering loving a madman?" She watched as Philippe's lips curled into a satisfying smirk. Meg soon realized that she had foolishly answered his unspoken question. She produced a low growl and turned on her heel. Meg bumped into Raoul while doing so, which resulted in her fleeing to the other end of the church, where she could complain to her mother in private.

"What is wrong with Meg?" Raoul questioned.

Philippe simply shrugged. "I was simply suggesting to the Mademoiselle that perhaps Miss Daae was a little too close to your Phantom friend," Philippe swung his free arm around Raoul's shoulder. "Raoul," he preached, "perhaps this decision is too big for you. This is the wife that you are to cherish until death do you part, and you have picked her. And you know Raoul, she is only of middle-class, a mere chorus girl who you hadn't even _noticed_ until she obtained a—may I say—_fabulous_ solo one night."

Raoul was speechless. Suddenly, his immense shock turned into fiery rage. He jerked Philippe's arm off of him and scowled. "So, this is what you truly think of her?" He was trying his best to keep his voice down, but was failing miserably. The people on the alter shot their heads up to listen.

_I'd chime in with a "Haven't you people ever heard of closing a goddamn door!"  
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.  
I'd chime in "Haven't you people ever heard of closing a goddamn door!"  
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of..._

"On our wedding day, you choose _now_ to tell me this?"

"Well, I would have never thought that you'd go through with it." Philippe said honestly. "Really Raoul, you could do so much better—"

"Forget it, Philippe!" Raoul shouted, waving him off.

"But, Raoul!" Philippe pleaded, snatching his brother's arm, only for Raoul to rip it away and nugde him sharply in the chest. This sent Philippe off balance. He wobbled onto his feet for support to keep himself from falling, and although he might have saved his face from hitting the floor, the wine glass was not so lucky. Raoul gave him a bitter 'serves-you-right' look and then stomped off, angrily.

* * *

He didn't know why he was there, in a church…especially for that particular event. News spread quickly around Paris. 

He had slipped in, unheard, and had withdrawn quickly into the shadows. He leaned against the mahogany walls, eyes silently raking over the pews. His heart was beating rapidly as he bit down onto his malformed lip. This helped to suppress a shaky breath that was threatening to escape his mouth. Still out of view, the unseen figure continued about his journey.

Suddenly the man heard a choked sob coming from a room behind him, and he stood cautiously outside the door to listen. Yes, that was her voice, he'd know it anywhere. He debated whether or not to slip into the room and watch her, but decided against it. He'd wait a couple of moments until she was thoroughly distracted.

* * *

'_This is all you want, to be his wife, his love, his lifetime,' _Christine thought helplessly to herself. Then why was her future so unclear in her head? Her thoughts strayed to the rooftop, that night when Raoul had confessed his undying love; the night when he had offered her a sheltered, peaceful life away from all the chaos that had been inflicted upon her. A quiet life away from her home, her Opera House. Well, it had been only six months and she had missed the Populaire dreadfully. How could Christine possibly survive the days without it? She was longing to return to it, to return to the people in it… 

Him. How she tried so hard to keep her thoughts from him, and how she failed. Her own Angel of Music, the one revealed as the Opera Ghost, a madman and a monster. She knew that she could never go back to the Opera again, for the cellars would be uninhabited, unadorned and dead. The man that had been so utterly and completely in love with her was now nothing more than a frightening, yet somewhat fond memory. How his dark, sensual voice had enchanted her, lured her to his hideaway underneath the Opera. Now, Christine didn't even know whether he was still alive or not. It haunted her mind and her dreams. Every spare thought was of him. Christine could feel her skin pucker with tiny bumps of gooseflesh. If only Raoul knew how she felt… And she felt despicable because of it! Christine knew… Yes, deep down within the caverns of her mind… _He_ still possessed her, like no other ever had. There would always be that special place in her heart…for _Him_.

"Not even Raoul's love_," _Christine confessed to herself, "not even such sweet antidote can cure this magician's clever spell, this enchantment he has cast on me..." But it would, she reassured herself, it _had to_. She could not live her life with such a divided soul. Christine looked at herself in the mirror again; she wiped away her tears and mentally cursed herself for ruining her make-up. Getting up and going over to the vanity, she began to repaint her face.

'_No', _she realized with horror, '_I promised Raoul I would never sing again. I must sacrifice my song for him. And besides, it would be too painful if I were to sing'_ Her heart ached wretchedly as she thought of this. Of course Christine would sacrificed it.

"Really, what is more important," Christine said aloud, "Love or Music?" Yes, Love was much more important she assured herself. But then, wasn't love and music the same thing? No…that was something the Phantom had taught her, and Christine had to think for herself.

Christine was so deep in thought she hadn't heard the door creak open. Within minutes however, she did notice a small chill coming from its crevice and simply thought the wind had blown it open. She brushed all doubts from her mind and sat back on the sofa.

"_I suppose it is only right to call you Madame Changy from now on…unless you would prefer otherwise…"_

Christine's breath caught in her throat. She looked up, thinking she'd heard her name. She had to be hearing things, which frightened her yet again, and resumed her state of depression.

"_Christine_…"

She flinched, choosing not to move. This time, Christine knew she had heard that beautiful, addicting male voice, calling her name. It was a bittersweet feeling.

Hastily, Christine replied, "A…angel?"

"_How can you still call me that?_" The voice moaned, hidden behind a wall hanging. Christine could feel her cheeks heat up. Her eyes then began to burn and threaten fresh tears. How foolish, she realized! She couldn't even address him by name! She let out a strangled sob. After all he had done for her! She didn't even know his name!

"_No, my angel, don't cry, not on such a happy day…" _Ha, what a laugh, it certainly wasn't a happy day for him! He was lying through his teeth!

_Why was he even here?_

Perhaps it was because he thought that he still had a chance to win her love.

But time was running out…

As if reading his mind, Christine murmured, "Why are you here? How can _you_ stand to look at _me_? Why do you _continue_ to haunt me?" She wept into her hands. "Won't you at least stand where I can see you?" She begged, tears dripping down her fingers and onto the floor.

He decided to comply and reluctantly stepped into the light. He stood before her, unmasked in body and soul. His distorted face pain-stricken and full of sadness, his love for her still there. Christine brought his hands down from her face and gasped. The man winched and instantly fled back into the darkness.

Christine wasted no time in coming to stand beside him, pulling the Phantom back into the light. "I'm sorry, Angel. I was just surprised…" Her tone showed unmistakably that she was sorry.

Their eyes never left each other's as she moved forward, twisting the new ring on her finger. "I realized," she said softly, holding back a sob, "that I never asked you your name." Her throat tightened and she squeezed her eyes shut, ashamed, a few tears sliding through under her eyelids. "I never knew your name."

He stared at her, his breath uneven and shallow. "My name?" He repeated, thrown off by her question. He looked almost defensive, protecting the one last thing he had not revealed to her. "I was not given a name," he murmured with certain coldness. "My mother did not deem me worthy."

"No!" Christine burst out. "I won't have it! Everyone has a name, and you do too!" Absent-mindly, she pulled her body to his, feeling as his stiffened from their pleasurable closeness. Christine noticed his white shirt and bare, masculine chest. She turned red and slowly laid her head on it. "Please," she cooed, her warm breath sent shivers down his spine and succeeded to make his heart stop for one brief moment, "you must have a name…"

The man felt his hand being pulled, as if attracted by some magnetic force, down towards her brown locks, where he could bury it and feel her soft hair. He drew it away quickly. He wouldn't want to mess up her veil.

"It's Erik." He said in his bravest voice.

"What a beautiful name…" She smiled, embracing his torso tightly.

_Well in fact, well I'll look at it this way, I mean technically our marriage is saved. Well this calls for a toast, so pour the champagne Oh! Well in fact, well I'll look at it this way, I mean technically our marriage is saved. Well this calls for a toast, so pour the champagne, pour the champagne_

"Chris…Christine…!" Erik gasped, fighting the temptation to kiss her forehead, her neck, her lips... _everything._

But he was failing. Erik gave a slight shudder, swallowing hard as he did his best to quiet the demons within him. Soon the uncertainly died, and all that was left was the feeling of her wrapped around him, holding him as if he were more precious than anything in the world. He looked down and placed a trembling hand in her hair, or rather, in Christine's veil, for it was draped over her curls and prevented him from touching her.

He mentally cursed himself for weakening like this. Here Erik was, in the arms of the woman who had mercilessly crushed his heart; left him for a fop, and now was getting married to him! He shouldn't be feeling such burning emotion!

"I've missed you…Erik." Christine felt awkward with the way she had pronounced his name. It was as if she were speaking for the very first time. "_So_ much." Slowly, Christine began to feel better, and squeezed Erik a bit more tightly.

And that melted his heart.

* * *

Andre and Firmin decided to visit Madame Giry over on the other side of the church. It seems she and Meg had known something about why Raoul wasn't exactly speaking to Philippe. 

Meg crossed her arms and faced the stain glass window. The reflection of its colors danced across her flesh. "Mama, please tell these men that I do not wish to discuss it, and that it is really none of their business!"

Madame Giry eyed her, a sign to be polite, if not quiet. Meg narrowed her eyes in annoyance and remained silent.

"I must check on Christine now. I believe that she has had enough time to herself," Madame Giry inquired, cupping her hands together.

Firmin raised an eyebrow. "What for? Surely she does not have cold feet?" He stared dazedly into space for a moment before a thought struck him. "Andre, maybe…maybe she's having second thoughts about—"

Andre hit his palm to his brow, "Of course!" he agreed, "Maybe the realization has finally hit her! The realization that Miss Daae's Phantom is no longer there to compete for her!" He smirked, "Two men fighting for that girl! How ever did she choose?"

"Perhaps it is because one of them was daffy!"

"Then I'd seriously consider Miss Daae's own sanity as well! Thank _God_ she chose the Victome!" Andre laughed, Firmin soon joining in.

_I'd chime in with a "Haven't you people ever heard of closing a goddamn door!"  
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.  
I'd chime in "Haven't you people ever heard of closing a goddamn door!"  
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality._

_Again..._

Madame Giry found herself smacking them both heatedly across the cheeks. The two automatically went mute and fell into a shock. "How dare you!" She seethed, "Talking about such an innocent child like that! And on her wedding day, no less!" Her gaze sent venom straight through their bodies. "You should be ashamed! Miss Daae is like one of my own. Anything bad said about her is only a harsh insult to me!"

"We're…we're sorry Madame…" They apologized, rubbing their sore spots, soothingly.

"You should be!"

* * *

"Christine, please don't do this to me!" Erik pleaded. Christine's eyes fluttered open as she titled her head up to look at him. "You're getting married…" 

She nodded slowly, "I know."

Silence.

Erik sighed. He knew what filled that silence: their past. It was all of the hurt and betrayal and pain that had denied their love its future. It threatened to destroy him if something was not done soon.

"No," he said quietly. Bringing Christine to him once more, he slid his arms around her, returning her gesture of affection. The seconds ticked by and then he proceeded to remove her veil, and tossed it lightly to the floor. At long last, Erik buried his hands in her hair and pressed his deformed lips to her forehead. He listened as Christine gasped out in surprise.

Within Erik, reason raged. '_You absolute fool! Why offer you're soul again only to have it rejected? Haven't you learned? You barely have a soul left to give!' _But Erik pushed all thought out of his mind and lifted Christine's chin up with his thumb and forefinger. He moved his mouth down to her lips, kissing them with all the passion he possessed, cradling her face in his hands, his long fingers brushing gently against her locks. When she had held him, whispered how much she missed him, how happy she was to see him, his resolve to stay far away from her embrace had entirely vanished. If someone were to walk in on them in that moment, to see him kissing the bride to be, he wouldn't have cared. ...He was kissing his love.

Erik ran his tongue gently along her lips, which were now red from his kisses. Christine couldn't help but to open her mouth and moan with pleasure, which gave Erik the perfect opportunity to enter her. She swung her arms lovingly around his neck, leaning into him, Christine's body now intimately on top of his. Erik backed up against the wall. Christine's response only served to heighten his passion, gasping at the sensation of how soft she was against his now obvious arousal.

"Christine," he whispered between desperate, fevered kisses, "I…should…go..." Their lips parted and he drew away stubbornly. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

Christine bit her lip, overwhelmed with disappointment. "Erik…" He voice was sad and disappointed.

He grasped her hands in his, "Come with me, Christine. We can live together, away from Paris!" His eyes showed signs of hope and Christine felt her heart flutter but then, all too quickly, sink inside her chest.

She looked down at their hands. "Oh, Erik…I can't do that to Raoul. I still love him."

Erik gawked and released her hands coldly.

"No! No, don't take it like that! Erik, do you really want all that publicity to start up again?"

"Why do you care? We have each other, isn't that enough?" Erik spat, watching as Christine's bottom lip began to quiver.

"If only it were that simple! But I just can't forget the past! You're a murderer, Erik! What if one day, you get angry with me and loose your temper and…"

"I would _never_ hurt you, Christine…" Erik saw the fear in her wide, brown orbs and felt horrible. He gazed upon Christine and watched as she became that lost, confused child that he had known for all those many years, and his presence was making her that way.

"I will go, Christine, and you will never have to hear from me again." He said sadly.

"_Don't do that_!" she shrieked, resuming her embrace. "At least write to me, tell me that you're thinking of me, that you have nothing but fond memories of me!" She gripped him fiercly, "_Please_, Erik!"

Erik stared down at her. "Of course, my angel. Anything for the bride." And Erik planted one last kiss into her hair.

* * *

Madame Giry opened the door and walked in. She looked at Christine oddly, noticing that her lip-stick was smudged and her veil on the floor. "What exactly have you been doing in here? You know its bad luck for the groom to see you in your wedding dress before the wedding!" She joked. 

Christine turned white but let out a strained laugh as Madame Giry fixed her up.

"So, are you ready to get married?" She asked, combing tangles out, placing the veil back on and reaching for the make-up box.

Christine gave her a small smile.

_I'd chime in "Haven't you people ever heard of closing a goddamn door!"  
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.  
I'd chime in "Haven't you people ever heard of closing a goddamn door!"  
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality._

_Again..._

_

* * *

_

**A/N**: Okay, so it probably stunk but it was my fist PotO one-shot song-fic, so please be nice! I didn't edit, and even if I did, I'm not very good at it, so forgive me for any mistakes.

uggh...Christine really is a moron, isn't she? My own story has gotten me depressed!

Please review!

Christine


	2. Dance Inside

**A/N**: I decided to make this story a collection of song phics. This one— what if Raoul was absent during the Masquerade ball? Would things go differently? Most likely.

**Artist**: The All-American Rejects

Dance Inside

By: The Sweet Allure of Lady Red Death

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The ball was an exceptional affair. It was in honor of the anniversary of the birth of the famous draftsman; and it was expected to be much gayer, nosier, and more extravagant than an ordinary masked ball. There were fabulous dresses displayed all the way down the marble steps of the opera, couples were twirling around madly to the sounds of musical artists, laughing and shrieking. You couldn't help but enjoy yourself.

The two girls entered into the great hall.

"Oh…it's so beautiful!" said one. She clasped her hands together with joy. Her twinkling spheres surveyed the party with a jittery excitement.

Her friend laughed lightly. "It _is_ well decorated."

"I feel like I'm in a fairy tale!" replied she. "Don't you feel the same, Christine?" They walked gracefully over to the refreshment table, where the girls poured themselves a drink. The blonde-haired beauty handed Christine her glass. She took it with a small smile.

"I'd feel better if Raoul had joined me." She swished her water around in the cup.

Meg raised her eyebrows incredulously. "You mean he's not _coming_?" She was flabbergasted.

Christine blushed sheepishly, straightening out the folds in her light pink ball gown. "Oh, Meg. Don't get the wrong idea." She adjusted her sleeve, which seemed to be threatening to slide off her shoulder. "Raoul's caught a dreadful cold. He couldn't attend."

"I see…" Meg's voice trailed off. "And you're not with him?"

"Well, I _offered _to stay and take care of him," Christine sounded troubled, "but he didn't want me to get sick, too."

Meg nodded, "That's understandable. He cares so much for you, Christine."

"I know." Her fingers found their way to the thin silver chain around her neck. The diamond ring that hung off of it was now hidden nicely between the cleavages of two soft, round breasts. She smiled to herself.

"I don't know if I can enjoy myself with him gone…"

Meg sighed at Christine and how hopelessly in love she sounded. It made her a bit jealous. "It's just one night," she informed, "have fun with it."

Christine looked at her and exhaled a breath, lips curing into a smile, "I suppose you're right."

"I know I am," Meg grinned. "Now, come on, let's dance!" She placed down her drink, took Christine's from her, grabbed the singer's hands and gently pulled her to the center of the room. She giggled at Daae's vacant expression. Her mouth hung open slightly, her eyes wide, and a pink-colored blush seemed air brushed onto her fair cheeks.

"Meg, you know I'm a clumsy oaf!" She whispered, suddenly flustered.

"Since when?" Meg mused.

"Since I got yelled at for tripping over my feet at dance lessons!" She replied, both quickly and fluidity, hoping that no one else could hear.

"Christine, that's hardly something to complain about! You know my mother is strict!" Meg twirled herself around, her white dress spreading out around her like the petals of a flower. "She's a perfectionist. You know that. And you happen to be a fine dancer." Meg then added, with a wink, "Some of us _wish_ we were as talented as you."

"Really? Do you really think that?" Christine was touched.

"Of course!" she cried out happily.

Christine lifted an eyebrow, "Are you saying these things just to get me to dance?"

"Why…no…" Meg put on an innocent smile and then couldn't help but ask, "Is it working?"

Christine chuckled, "Maybe…I'm not quite sure."

Meg held out her hand.

Christine eyed it, and took a step back.

"Christine!"

"What? I can't afford any broken bones!" She argued.

"I'm surprised that you even show up for dance rehearsals!"

"Have you seen Madame Giry when she's angry? She'd kill me if I skipped. Her anger is almost as bad as…" Christine stopped there. She felt herself shiver and rubbed the sides of her arms uncomfortably.

Meg's insides jumped. "Christine? What's wrong? You're face…its white." He voice was flavored with concern.

"It's nothing. I'm fine." Christine assured, but Meg wasn't convinced.

"Are you sure?" she stressed.

"Yes."

Meg studied her thoroughly for a moment before she felt someone's hand on her shoulder. She jumped, snapping out of her meditation. Spinning around on her heel, she turned to face the owner of the hand.

"I'm sorry that I startled you, Miss Giry."

Meg sighed in relief. "Oh Pierre, it's you." She laughed nervously. "It's quite all right, I just zoned out for a moment. Silly me." Meg tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear. Her eyes scanned over his formal evening dress and gleaming black mask. She no longer felt so bold. "Don't you look handsome?"

Pierre gave Meg a lopsided smile and ran a hand through his perfect light brown hair. "I try."

"You certainly do…" Meg whispered to herself. Christine smirked and nudged her in the side.

"Miss Giry, I was wondering…" He offered her his arm, "Would you like to dance?"

She blinked, dumbly. "W-what?"

"He's asking you for a dance," Christine rephrased, beaming. "Personally, I'd say yes."

Meg gulped. Her heart leapt inside her breast as Pierre smiled down at her, her vision of perfection. "I'd love to." Her voice trembled.

Pierre lit up and pulled her to him. "Oh!" she squeaked, turning red. "But, Christine…are you—?" She looked over her shoulder at her.

"I'm fine, Meg. Go have fun."

Meg didn't think twice, she walked over onto the floor with Pierre, both of them looking painfully graceful as they spun together, in wonderful unison. Christine cupped her cheek, wishing now more than ever that Raoul hadn't caught the cold. She decided to take a seat on the marble steps and just watch as everyone enjoyed themselves.

She was now aware of how the celebrators were singing a song so joyous… and yet… Christine had never heard it before. It seemed so familiar though, as if she had been hearing it her whole life. She sang it softly, blending in with her peers.

"_Masquerade! Paper faces on parade! Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you. Masquerade! Every face a different shade! Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask behind you!" _Christine found herself getting really into the music, so she sang along a bit more.

"_Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads! Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you. Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds! Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you. Masquer—"_

The orchestra suddenly stopped playing as the lights dimmed. Attention was focused on a man dressed all in scarlet, a huge hat and feathers on top of his jet back hair—or was it a wig?—, which he carelessly tossed aside into some dark corner. On his face he wore an alluring mask, crafted to resemble a skull. From his shoulders huge an immense red-velvet cloak, which trailed down the steps like a king's train; on this cloak was embroidered in gold letters, which everyone seemed to be whispering aloud, "Don't touch me! I am Red Death stalking aboard!"

Christine almost fell off the bottom step and stumbled back onto her feet. It was Him! A strange mixture of terror and thrill stirred inside of her. It had been so long…since she last saw him.

"_A party? I don't believe that I was invited… What a shame." _His heavenly male voice sounded throughout the room. The only sound that could be heard was the gentle rustling of his train over the steps (and maybe even Christine's heart, which was beating savagely in her chest. But she chose to believe that she was the only who heard it).

And then their eyes met.

And her heart stopped beating all together.

_You don't have to move, you don't have to speak  
Lips for biting.  
You're staring me down; a glance makes me weak  
Eyes for striking  
_

The Red Death smiled grotesquely as he turned to face the two managers, who went white in the face.

"_My managers..." _He nodded down at them.

Andre and Firmin stared at him in awe.

"_Why so silent good messieurs_?" The Red Death took a few smooth steps towards the two, quickly covering the distance. "_A pity, though… As soon as I arrived, all of the festivities seemed to have ended— rather abruptly, I noticed. I hope that wasn't on my behalf. I'd hate to have ruined such a good party." _He chuckled darkly at their lack of aresponse_. "Well, I must not dwell on it. Have you missed me, good monsieurs?"_

Their throats felt awfully dry.

"_I've missed you just as much, I assure you. Did you think that I had left you for good?" _The masked-man removed a bound manuscript from deep inside a pocket in his scarlet robe. He then threw it at Andre, who caught it clumsily and staggered a little. "_If fact,_ _to show how much I've missed you, I have written you an opera!"_

The partners looked at each other, and then back to him.

"_Don Juan Triumphant! But I warn you… _my_ opera must be perfect, and therefore, Carlotta must be taught to act- by **all** means necessary. I suggest that you should place her in the chorus. It is what's best for my production. I would prefer it if she lip-syncs. We mustn't torture the unsuspecting people in the audience. After all, they come here to enjoy fine talent, something that Carlotta has been so wrongfully deprived of."_

Carlotta, who was standing on the right side of the steps, looked extremely offended, and went to open her mouth to speak. Piangi quickly shook his head, begging her not to make a scene…or get herself killed. One or the other.

Red Death was deeply enjoying the all-mighty power that he had over the room. "Also," he continued,_ "I do hope Piangi decides to loose some weight. It's not healthy for a man of his age."_

Carlotta growled as she saw how his words infuriated Piangi, but then told her lover, rather mockingly, not to over-react and get them both in trouble.

Red Death's eyes fell back on Christine, who seemed to be in a trance. _"As for our star, Miss Christine Daae…" _Red Death began saying his next verse in song, "_No doubt she'll do her best, it's true. Her voice is good, she knows. Though if she wish to excel, she still has much still to learn._ _If pride would let her return to me, her teacher…her teacher._"

His turquoise/golden eyes (which ever you prefer) seemed to brighten up against the black face make-up that he painted around them (in order to make them appear like the sockets of a skeleton). He breathed in, and started walking towards her.

"_I hope you'll be able to resume the festivities." _Red Death directed at Firmin, but looking at Christine, "_I would fancy a dance._"

Whispering broke out like wildfire.

Andre gestured dazedly at the orchestra to keep playing their music. "Monsieur, we're very sorry about the inconvenience. Why've you all stopped dancing? My _god_, make our guest feel welcome!"

The music restarted but people still wouldn't move.

He now stood only a few feet in front of her, and Christine found herself mindlessly stepping forward to meet him. On-lookers watched with fascination.

Christine felt one strong arm wrap around her petite waist and a glove clad hand twine its fingers with hers. She gasped sharply. Her head now rested on Red Death's chest.

"What…What do you think you're doing?" she stammered. She was almost inaudible.

"Miss Daae, I am treating you to a dance." He appeared so serious, it made Christine flinch. She rested her hands on Red Death's robes and pushed him away.

"I don't dance." She murmured.

He laughed.

People continued to gaze.

"You're a wonderfully dancer, I've watched you." He tried to compose himself and grab her again, but Christine shook her head.

"No, I'm not." She stated matter-of-factly, '_I won't let him have this affect on me.' _"I'd think it'd be best if you left, my Ang—monsieur."

Christine began walking away, but Red Death quickly swooped in front of her. "What are you doing?" she said hopelessly, trying to push past him.

"I'm not letting you go that easily…" his seductive voice whispered in her ear, making Christine's skin pucker with tiny bumps of gooseflesh. There it was! That feeling...the one she had been craving for but swore she would never feel again.

Christine felt her cheeks grow hot. "Please," she pleaded, "you can't do this to me…"

He took her hand again and used his other to bury his fingers in her curls. "Do _what_ to you?" He asked innocently.

She was shocked. "And you call me ignorant… How can you be so unaware?" Christine muttered, noting how adorable her Angel looked when he blinked.

"Well, maybe if we danced a bit, you can explain to me this…affect… I seem to have had on you." Red Death smirked devilishly as Christine sighed in defeat.

_Now I'm twisting up when I'm twisted with you  
Brush so lightly  
And time trickles down, and I'm breathing for two  
Squeeze so tightly.  
I'll be fine, you'll be fine.  
This moment seems so long  
Don't waste now, precious time  
We'll dance inside the song _

"I _really _am going to trip over you." Christine looked down at their feet, hoping that she wouldn't crush Red Death's toes.

"Christine, you're not a bad dancer…" he repeated, shaking his head at her.

She batted her lashes at him. "Well…I think I am."

"Then you're being foolish." He grinned and twirled her around in an elegant manor. Christine was speechless.

"You're so swift…" she mouthed, trying to form the words.

He responded by giving her another spin. His warm breath fanned her cheek as he thanked her for the compliment. Christine's mind was whirling as she suddenly began bumping into her partner nervously. Her face continued to glow pink.

Red Death frowned slightly as Christine stared down at her feet. Her body was tense; he could feel her muscles tightly coiled beneath his palm. What a change! Was it something he did? "Relax, Christine. It's just me. Come now, look me in the eyes."

Finally, as the music slid into a soft, gradual retard, Christine's gaze met his. The pair lingered at a stand-still as the trembling violin chord faded into an inaudible range. Wordlessly, as the majestically growing cello solo began, the couple started to gracefully float along the marble floor, twisting and spinning with natural ease, their eyes entranced with and never leaving the other.

The villa's ballroom slipped away, and they were left in their own world of soft hues that melted together, listening to the sounds of utopia that the passionately dark cello thrummed.

Red Death squeezed Christine's hand slightly, and she gave his one as well. He dipped her a little, and she felt herself trusting him fully as she leaned back, yet never allowed their eye contact to break. It was then, as he righted Christine, and they started swirl around once more, that Red Death's heart suddenly felt very full as the beats sped up.

The longer he looked into her brown eyes, the more adrift his mind became by their shimmering warmth. Strange sensations tingled throughout his entire body and it confused him greatly. Is this what he did to Christine? Oh, how he wished it wouldn't end!

_What makes the one to shake you down  
Each touch belongs to each new sound   
Say now you want to shake me too  
Move down to me, slip into you  
_

'_Is this a dream?_' Christine thought to herself, unaware of the low comments echoing around her. At least people were dancing, but their eyes were still focused on the lovely soprano and her Opera Ghost. "If only Raoul could dance the way you do…" Christine said, automatically regretting it, for now the alluring man had stiffened underneath her touch. She winced.

"So the Victome…" he pondered aloud, "where is he tonight?"

"I don't think I'll tell you…" Christine retorted, feeling quite scared of what his reaction might be. Her mind suddenly flashed an image of the engagement ring that hung from her neck. She hastily dropped her Angel's hand and flew her own to her breast, where she clasped the ring and prayed to God he wouldn't question her about it. Or what if he already noticed, and was waiting for her to say something?

For a second time, Christine backed away from him. "I'm sorry, monsieur, but…but I'm getting a head ache…I really should go. I…I need my rest." Hands still tightly secured around the diamond, the sea of costume-wearers parted as Miss Daae flew off into a deserted corridor.

Red Death stood there, dumbly for a moment, before going after her. The hallways were dark as he rushed through them, but his eyes were well used to it. He bounded through them like a wild stallion, searching for Christine. His acute hearing picked up on a few chocked sobs (they appeared to be coming from the right of him). Red Death turned down another passage, until his eyes fell upon Christine. Her back was leaning up against her dressing room door, head in her hands, weeping miserably.

"Christine?" he cooed.

She shot her head up to look at him. Tears had left wet streak stains on her cheeks. "Go away!" She wailed, grabbing a hand-full of hair, wretchedly. "I gave you you're dance!"

"I won't go away, Christine." Her Angel said, refusing leave, and instead, coming to embrace her. "I can't stand to see you cry. Don't you know that? It breaks my heart."

Christine tried to suppress a shriek of sadness, but failed horribly. "You think you're hearts broken now?" She gasped for breath.

Red Death crocked his head.

"You have no idea, do you?"

"About what?" he asked.

Her eyes shook with pity. "I'm engaged to Raoul. It…it was supposed to be a secret…"

He shuddered, seeming deeply betrayed. "Why a secret? Who are you hiding it from?"

"You're honestly asking me that!" she snapped, rubbing her nose. "I'm terrified of you—no; don't look at me like that! Your temper is what frightens me, not you! Maybe if you knew how to control it…" Christine bit on her lower lip until she tasted salt.

"If I knew how to control it…" he impelled her to say more.

"I wouldn't have this fear that you would someday turn on me!"

That hurt.

"Christine…" he groaned. He stepped over to her and ripped the chain from off her neck. She stared up at him, bewildered. "You will always belong to _me_." He lightly kissed the top of her forehead.

Christine's eyes closed, and she let him get closer. The light from the gas-lamps that hung from their hinges, illuminated off of his mask, creating a mysterious glow. Finally, his lips met hers. They just barely brushed, like the wings of a butterfly. And then, he pulled away, all too quickly, as if being repelled by some unknown force.

"I will always love you—you and you alone. You must know that, Christine." He let a strand of her hair fall through his fingers as he looked at her longingly. Christine was an angel, radiant, perfect in every way. The candlelight played across their faces as they gazed at each other in comfortable silence.

Red Death bent down to kiss her again. Christine stood on her tip toes in order to receive his soft touch. Then he got bolder, and pressed them harder against hers.

To Christine's amazement, she let him. She couldn't seem to pull away, no matter how hard she tried. It was as if she had suddenly lost her ability to move. Christine, for the first time, felt…_wicked_.

And the worst part was…

She _enjoyed_ it.

_She sinks in my mind as she sheds through her skin  
Touch like taste like fire   
Hands to know what eyes no longer defend  
Hands to fuel desire   
I'll be fine, you'll be fine  
This moment seems so long  
Don't waste now, precious time  
We'll dance inside the song  
_

Her lover took advantage of her helplessness, and closed all space between them, so that his body was resting against hers. His fingers entwined in her brown curly locks as he kept his lips down to hers.

Christine stifled a moan of pleasure

To Red Death, this was bliss and agony. If only Christine _was_ his, and not some pretty boy fops. The very thought only made him kiss her more fiercely.

Moving as if in a dream, Christine carefully placed her arms around his neck and held him to her. He was so masculine…he scent so enticing. She breathed quietly as he kissed her, and this seemed to encourage him.

When she felt Red Death's tongue meet the seam of her lips, she panicked. Her mind screamed, '_Wow…my Angel seems incredibly bold this evening… Wait! What are you doing? Leave now, while you still can! You know this is wrong! Raoul, poor, sick Raoul! ' _But her body wouldn't listen. Instead of pushing him away, as she usually would, Christine found herself parting her lips for him.

His tongue explored her mouth, and she was powerless to stop him. His hands were now buried deeply in her hair

_What makes the one to shake you down  
Each touch belongs to each new sound   
Say now you want to shake me too  
Move down to me, slip into you_

_Ooh, ah  
Ooh, ah  
Ooh, ah  
Ooh, ah  
_

Christine's heart skipped a beat when she felt Red Death undo the ties on the back of her dress. His arms clutched her against him, and she didn't protest. Instead she dove deeper into his mouth with her tongue, begging him to continue.

However, the little voice in her head, telling her to remember dear, sweet Raoul, was still fitting the battle within her.

_And I'll be fine, you'll be fine  
Is this fine? I'm not fine  
Give me pieces, give me things to stay awake (stay awake)_

"Angel! I…" She tried to speak to him through their feverish kisses, "are…are you sure…are you sure," She giggled as he began to trail kisses down her jaw line and to her collar bone. "Are you sure this is right?"

"It has always been right," he replied in a raspy voice.

"But Raoul—"

It was useless. He just wouldn't stop making mouth-music with her. "Let's not ruin this moment, all right Christine?"

She nodded in understanding and nuzzled her nose into his chest, before giving him a deep soul kiss.

Red Death smiled as they broke apart and despite everything she just had done, Christine blushed.

"My Angel…" he rested his head on top of hers as she cuddled into him.

_  
What makes the one to shake you down  
Each touch belongs to each new sound  
Say now you want to shake me too  
Move down to me, slip into you  
_

"Want to go back to the Ball?"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather stay here with you." Christine still appeared worried though. As if reading her thoughts, Red Death replied, "Engagements can always be broken. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me, than I could certainly learn to forgive you."

And that's when that little voice in her head, the one who held all of Christine's doubts, seemed to permanently go mute.

"Would you like to dance?" Christine giggled, dragging him out into the middle of the dark hallway.

"With no music and a dancing inadequate?" He joked.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, where they rightfully belonged, "We could make our own music. And as for my phobia of dancing," she stepped lightly on his feet and allowed him to carry her.

"Why, don't _we_ feel like a little girl again?"

She smacked him playfully, "Yes, and it feels _so _nice."

Thoughts of the past and present seemed to slip away, and the only thing that mattered was each other's company.

_What makes the one to shake you down  
Each touch belongs to each new sound  
Say now you want to shake me too  
Move down to me, slip into you_

**FIN!**

**

* * *

**

**A/N: **I think the next story is going to be inspired by "**Vindicated**" by Dashboard Confessional or "**Iris**" by Goo Goo Dolls, but I'm not quite sure yet. **Help me decide?** If you have any suggestions, feel free to tell me! I look forward to it! And remember to review! Please?

..Christine..


	3. Iris

**A/N**: I decided to do "Iris", okay guys? Okay, so… this is just a song-phic about the night that Christine goes down to Erik's Lair! Things might go differently; heck…they will go differently! E/C is the way to go, people!

**Artist**: The Goo Goo Dolls

**Warning**: Slight Lime

Iris

By: The Sweet Allure of Lady Red Death

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Christine triumphed over her last note with sterling perfection. She didn't even have to wait before the Opera House broke into a loud, pleasing applause; it seemed to shake the gala. Christine took a dainty bow. Her cheeks threatened to glow red as she looked out into the crowd. This feeling…this feeling of absolute praise and adoration, it was more than anything she could ever have dreamed of. Christine bowed again, and the cheers rose into a crescendo. Then, the curtains billowed out in front of her, and Christine was given permission to walk off stage.

* * *

Was today the day? She had certainly fulfilled his every desire for her. She would remain Prima Donna forever. No one else deserved it more. Please, that Spanish toad, Carlotta? Christ-all-mighty, now _her_ voice needed work. And even with lessons, it would be a hopeless attempt. Erik shuddered with the disturbing thought of him tutoring Carlotta. He'd gladly throw himself into the torture chamber after one lesson. So, _thank god_ that his student was Christine. Lovely, beautiful Christine… 

Pfft. Student? Christine was his _student_? What a horrible, disgusting lie! Erik didn't think a mere teacher would create life-like mannequins in Christine's resemblance and spend hours on end water-coloring away in his studio. Sometimes, he would begin to feel lonely in the cold damp darkness that had so long been his home, and he would see her, pushing stray curls behind her ears.

Every time he did this, he would furiously shove the thought from his mind. She _was_ his student, and he forced himself to think of her this way. Certainly she was beautiful—when she smiled, there was the faintest dimple in her left cheek, and her eyes would sparkle with an indescribable innocence that often left him tongue-tied. Occasionally, Christine's hair would fall in her face as she leaned over her music, and she would absent-mindedly push it aside.

Erik grumbled a couple of profanities at his detailed analyze and straightened out his wig. Student…it was this student who made him strive to look perfect. Although, one—

He would never allow her to see him

And two—

He was _far_ from perfect. In fact, the sentence in itself was the most painful understatement, ever spoken by man.

So why the evening dress? Erik shrugged and wrapped a black cloak around him. He strode casually over to the lakeshore and stepped into the boat, grasping the gondola pole firmly.

Hey, no one ever knows what the future can bring. _He_ might as well look nice for it.

* * *

Christine smiled to herself after showing Raoul out, and moved towards her closet to change out of her costume. How nice it was to see her old family friend! And on the night of her first big performance! Christine began fiddling around with the jeweled clasps in her hair. She delicately placed them in her jewelry box and walked behind her changing curtain. A slight blush crept across her cheeks as she let her costume slide off her body and drop to the floor. She wondered what her sweet Angel of Music had thought of her singing tonight. She truly hoped with all her might that she'd pleased him. He'd been there so much through the past years, teaching her, guiding her, building her confidence. If he were a real man, a real breathing man of flesh and bone, how she would love him. She let out a tiny, feminine gasp. Oh, how licentious it would be— giving herself to a celestial being of virtue. Such impure thoughts! The soprano cupped a hand to her burning cheek and smiled sheepishly. 

Erik stood behind the mirror. He felt his blood beginning to boil as the boy practically threw himself at her, and his hands tightened into fists, clutched so hard to his sides that his knuckles turned white. Unconsciously, Erik had reached for the obscured pocket that held his trusty Punjab Lasso, but just before he lost all control, Christine showed the young man out... then began to undress.

Erik began to get flustered. He could feel himself going back in time to that little boy who would be so bashful around girls. He was a gentleman! He quickly turned his back to the mirror and waited.

Yet…he couldn't deny wanting to see her in nothing but herself… May God punish him for it!

When Erik let a couple of minutes go by, he swirled around facing her with absolute grace, filled with relief that Christine had selected a new gown. Erik beckoned her towards the mirror.

Christine's eyes went wide with excitement and she looked around. "Angel?" she questioned, looking hopeful. She'd just been thinking of him! When she thought of him, did that mean that he would come? She smiled wide and glanced up at the ceiling shyly. "Angel, is that you?"

_And I'd give up forever to touch you_

_'Cause I know that you feel me somehow_

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be_

_And I don't want to go home right now_

'_Curse her for her adorable innocence!'_ Forcing himself to breathe normally, Erik closed his eyes as he spoke again. "Yes, my dear... the angels wept tonight. Jealousy is not very flattering on them. I am so very proud of you." He paused awkwardly and felt his heart speed up unnaturally inside his chest. "and as to reward you... come, look at you're your face in the mirror, and see your tutor." Erik's throat tightened and he winced. '_You fool!_ _What are you doing!'_

Christine gasped and her smile seemed to consume her entire face as she glided towards her mirror. Her brown eyes were wide and excitement sparkling in them. "Oh, Angel!"

Slowly the mirror became nothing more than clear glass between the two of them, as Erik pulled the small lever that activated the mechanism, moving the reflective mirror away. Slowly, he pulled the glass aside, until they stood with only a foot of air between them. He knew that it would be glaringly obvious that he was no angel now. "Christine," was all he was able to say, extending his hand and bowing slightly.

Christine's mouth gaped open in shock as she gazed over this... this _man_ before her. A man! How could this possibly be her tutor, her angel? And the mirror! Her eyes left his as she wondered how the mirror worked. Had this... man... been watching her the entire time? She looked up at him once more. He was dark, and wore an alluring white half-mask which gleamed softly in the glow of the candle-light. His mysterious air excited and frightened her. Christine took a step back protectively, not believing what was going on.

"Christine..." Erik's voice was soft now, intoxicating as he moved tentatively forward just an inch, his gloved hand still held out for the taking. "Do not be afraid, my dear...I would never—_could_ never hurt you." His (insert eye color here) eyes begged her to trust him, and his hand tingled in anticipation of hers.

_And all I can taste is this moment_

_And all I can breathe is your life_

_'Cause sooner or later it's over_

_I just don't want to miss you tonight_

A shiver spread up Christine's spine and to her neck as she recognized her name. His eyes... they were so deep, so enticing. She couldn't resist and she was hardly aware of what she was doing, it was like she was in some sort of a trance, breathing deeply as she took his outstretched hand. She shivered once more at the feel of his icy-cold flesh, even underneath that glove clad hand. But Christine did not let go.

Erik brought her hand up, brushing his lips over her knuckles, then led her forward and through the mirror. Reaching over without breaking eye contact with Christine, he flipped the lever, and the mirror became just that again. "Come, child... see the world your angel must inhabit."

Christine bit her lip and timidly followed him, curiosity washing over her. It was so dark, she could hardly see anything, and she held onto his hand tighter as she followed him. She noted that he was very tall, and she tried to keep her eyes on his mask, as it almost seemed to glow in the darkness. She didn't understand what was happening, but she was so curious and adventurous that she was persuaded to follow... Not to mention she loved the sound of his voice, and would follow him into hell if he would continue to talk and sing to her.

Erik strode easily through the darkness, his eyes well adjusted completely to the situation after many years of living below the ground. Minutes later, they reached the lake, and Erik gently assisted her into the boat. "Do not be frightened." Erik reassured his voice warm and flowing. He stepped into the boat, which did not rock as he swiftly entered it. Slowly he poled the gondola across the still waters of the misty lake, his body knew the way across, so he allowed all of his attention to be placed on watching Christine as she sat on the soft pillows.

She situated herself with a soft blush. He was so lithe, agile, and she felt sure she one of the clumsiest people in the world. He had to have great strength to be able to pole them across so easily, as well. She dared not meet his eyes. Who was this man and why was he so interested in her? Christine could not put his face to his voice and she frowned in thought. He was alluring, granted, but nothing like a true angel. Her expectations of everything had just dropped to a dangerously low level. Lifting her gaze, Christine meant to look into his eyes, but thought the better of it and let her eyes travel to the swishing of the water beneath her.

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

"I'm sorry Christine; I just couldn't wait to see you. When that mirror was nothing more than a space of unseen air…" Erik fell silent again. After a moment, he continued, "I was so happy. Christine. I might not be the angel you were expecting, but you certainly are mine." Erik suddenly felt sick with the thought that once Christine came out of her shock, she would never forgive him. He would be a monster in so many ways…

Looking up, she immediately regretted it as Christine's face flushed from his compliments. Well, she was getting past the shock, and instead of thinking bad thoughts about him, she realized he was actually quite charming. He may have not been an angel... but he was still the same person, the same one who'd listened to her fears, her tears when Carlotta had treated her rudely, her complaints... her maestro. He was the reason she had been center stage tonight, a dream since she'd been a little girl. Not frightened any more, hardly shy, she smiled up at him. "I couldn't have done it without you." Christine didn't adore him for pretending to be her Angel of Music, she adored him for him.

It was Erik's turn to become a bit embarrassed, and he shook his head weakly. "Yes, you very well could have, Christine." He insisted gently. "It was within you all along... you needed only to find it." Sighing, he slowly moved past the risen gates and candelabras (which made Christine's eyes widen in absolute delight) and docked onto the shore. He got out first, twirling his cloak carelessly to the ground and listening as Christine inhaled another sharp breath. The corners of his mouth twitched as his lips threatened to form a smile. "Welcome to my home of music. Since the moment I first heard you sing, I knew that I would someday bring you here…when I was ready." He outstretched his arm and offered Christine help. She now, gladly accepted, as her white dress flowed like a train over the stone floor. She looked around fascinated, and then back to Erik. "I'm afraid I don't entertain much..." He began, looking away from her to avoid even more embarrassment, "So I'm not altogether sure what we do now."

Christine entwined a strand of hair around her index finger. "We could talk," she suggested, her eyebrows lifting slightly. She wished he'd open up to her more, and perhaps a light conversation would help. All they ever talked about when he tutored her was either _her_ or the music. Which, there was nothing wrong with that, but Christine was curious him, she wanted to know every little thing there was about her "Angel".

Erik nodded softly, looking down at his feet. "What shall we talk about, then?" He asked gently, chancing a shy glance to Christine, and then looking back to the floor.

Christine shrugged delicately and gazed at him hopefully. "How did you learn to sing? Did you have an angel?" She smiled gently at her playful comment.

Erik flushed slightly, but rewarded Christine with a soft smile. A faraway look came to his eyes, and he sighed at the painful memories. "No, child... there was no angel for me. Never an angel for me..." Slowly he turned his head to look into her eyes. "I have sung... as I do now, since I was very small." He stated, willing the pain that must be very evident in his eyes to go away.

Her head tilted to the side and she pursed her lips as she studied his pained features. It seemed he'd been through some painful things, and she felt bad for making him recall those memories. "I'm sorry if I've made you remember things that you did not wish to. I didn't mean to pry."

"Nonsense..." He said, reaching out to grasp her hand before realizing what he had done. Looking down at their joined hands, he slowly met her eyes and chanced a very slight smile. "You may ask me anything you wish... you have every right to know about the man who has told you such a great lie."

Christine almost began to move closer to him, but decided against it and gazed into his eyes, lovely (I'll just say golden; I like it when Erik hasgolden eyes. Kay Erik has amber, Leourex Erik has amber…) orbs that seemed to touch her soul. "I've forgiven you, Monsieur." She smiled reassuringly at him and squeezed his hand. '_Wait! Wait, Christine! You haven't even had the sense to ask him his name!_' Her face had now surpassed pink and flew all the way to magenta.

He stared down at her in shock, moving closer and squeezing her hand tighter. "Forgiven me...?" He was beyond surprise... he had expected Christine never to trust him, and here she was insisting that she forgave him! "I am not worthy of your forgiveness... But thank you, sincerely I thank you." He then laughed, and as if reading her thoughts, answered, "It's Erik…"

Just his presence was intoxicating, and now he had to have a beautiful name that made her heart flutter? It wasn't fair! Being so close to him, she could feel herself becoming dizzy. She couldn't stop looking into his eyes, and she didn't want to let go of his hand. He was so different from all the men she'd ever met, and he was so humble with her. She forgot the mysterious mask. It didn't matter.

Erik then led Christine over to the Sawn bed where he sat down, pulling the shy girl next to him. She squealed in secret delight, sunk down into the softness and relaxed.

"Christine…" he moaned, watching her as her beautiful hair spread out over the red cushions, "you are a seraph."

Christine batted her eyelashes and reached out to tug on his arm. "In the years that I've known you, you've always acknowledged me with the most flattering compliments. So I have another question… do you work all day just to come up with them? Because they're addictive, you know. I'm beginning to expect them." She laughed lightly, a glorious sound to Erik's ears. If only she just looked around and saw how obsessed he was with her.

"It's my job," At that moment, Erik was so grateful that his back was facing her. His entire face felt like it was on fire. Then, Erik felt a rush of air sweep past him, realizing that Christine had pulled him down to her.

"Then don't ever retire from it," she giggled. "Oh, Erik…I'm afraid you've made me spoiled." She squirmed a bit underneath him, the position of the two finally registering in her mind.

"Oh, of course…" Erik got flustered again and quickly rolled to Christine's side, a foot or two away from her.

Christine pouted. She scooted closer, so that their legs were at least touching, but stopped as she realized: _You only just met him!_ She frowned. '_No... I've known him for years! This is my angel! This is the angel that I love!_ _I've never felt this way before! This is not the way a girl should act! Oh, God have mercy on me!' _She'd asked multiple times for her angel to be a man, so that she could love him and not feel guilty. And now here he was. She smiled shyly up at him and pushed him on top of her again. '_Why should I care_? _I love him_!'

Erik sucked in a deep breath when she moved, and looked at her with such emotion in his eyes. _Don't do this_... His mind warned, even as his heart brought him closer and closer to Christine, until his face was just a bare inch or two from hers. _This will end in pain!_ Swiftly he moved forward, brushing his lips to hers, eyes slipping closed just at the mere touching of their lips. _My first kiss... oh God...Christine..._

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming_

_Or the moment of truth in your lies_

_When everything feels like the movies_

_And you bleed just to know you're alive_

Christine froze, realizing what was going on, but she couldn't help but close her eyes and lean into him. '_Have you gone mad!_ Christine ignored her mind. It was an annoying thing at times, and his lips were so soft…

Erik began to tremble when he felt her respond, and his free hand came up to cup her cheek, drawing her closer to him and slightly intensifying the kiss. Running completely by instinct now, his lips cautiously opened and he tilted his head, whimpering as he brushed his tongue against her lips.

She moaned slightly at the feel of his warm tongue pleading for entry, and her hand came up to cup his neck as she opened her mouth to him. Erik wrapped both of his arms around her waist, and lifting her slightly off the bed, he brought her completely against him. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, and Erik's hand slid to her hip, resting there while his lips moved over hers, tongue sliding into her mouth and brushing against hers. '_This cannot be real... if only she knew…'_

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

Christine's eyes remained tightly shut, and she pressed against Erik without protest, not really sure of her tantalizing movement. She'd never done anything like this before, but she felt an unexplainable heat spreading throughout her entire body and her hip tingled where Erik's hand was. She hesitantly moved her tongue against his, and twisted her head away from the mask so she could kiss him without it getting in the way. Christine couldn't understand this overwhelming feeling she had for him, this thing that she knew was desire, something she had never felt. It was like raging fire… In many ways, Christine knew she was still a child.

Erik gave a great moan at her actions, tangling his hands in her hair and pressing his own body against hers fully, his mind and heart racing like wild animals that could not be tamed. He didn't want them to be… 'If_ I don't stop now... she'll thank me for it…' _Gently he ended the kiss, looking down at her and willing his hands to keep still.

Christine whimpered slightly before her eyes flew open and she found him staring down at her. She blushed and averted his eyes, her hand shaking involuntarily at his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she squeaked softly, biting her lip and becoming even redder as she tasted him there. "But…why'd you—?"

"Christine..." Erik whispered, grasping her chin to tilt her face up. Slowly he placed a kiss to her cheek, then to her forehead. "Oh, Christine..." Swallowing hard, he looked down into her eyes and trembled at the desire he saw there. "I do not wish to frighten you with my ardor." He said warmly.

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

Her body shook slightly, but nodded. She was so embarrassed. She'd been entirely too unladylike, and he was worried about his ardor! God, he was so damn charming! She didn't know what to do. She still felt her lips pressed against his, her body tingled with what she could only describe as a want. She wanted _him_. But she wouldn't tell him so, she couldn't. No, she couldn't tell him that. And now, perhaps he wasn't just a want. Perhaps he was a _need_… She was so new to these feelings, and she didn't know how to handle them without someone to guide her...

Erik slowly brushed his fingers against the air that kissed her cheek, and then let them fall back to her petite waist. "Christine... do you..." Shaking his head lightly, he sighed. "Never mind, my dear." Slowly he moved forward to kiss her forehead again, and then he simply stroked his fingers through her hair, unsure what to do now.

Christine's piercing brown eyes locked onto his as she looked deeply into them. "Do I what?" She signaled for him to continue, and she was sure hope was evident on her face. _Do you want to kiss me again?_

He sighed; looking completely embarrassed, and ripped his gaze away from her. "Would you swear you love me? Christine, would you love me no matter what? And please, be honest. I don't know if I'm as forgiving as you. I don't know if I can take the lies." He finished his string of questions, meeting her gaze and having to fight quite hard to keep it.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Erik, did you really have to ask?" she murmured as she lifted her face to his again, and her hand went behind his head and into his dark black hair.

He gently pulled away and placed a finger to her lips. "Then I want you to ask me one more question."

Christine nodded, just wanting to kiss him again, to feel his fingers grace her body…

"Ask me about my mask…" He whispered in her ear, making her tiny hairs stand on end. It almost seemed like he was choking on sobs. Christine felt a sting of pain in her heart when she heard its slight hint. "Ask me why I wear a mask… _Please_." '_I need to know if this love is true…if it can ever be…'_

"Erik…I don't understand…"

"_Please_…" he asked again.

Christine looked up at him with questioning eyes. She swallowed past a small lump in her throat and then did what she was told. "Why do you wear a mask, Erik?" Her voice trembled slightly with the fear of his reaction.

Erik bit his lower lip until he tasted salt. "Take it off, and you shall see… But I warn you, Christine, you will not love me afterwards."

"That's not true—"

He shook his head, "Take it off."

She was nervous, and rightfully so. There was no telling what would happen after this.

She collected herself. There was no going back now… she had to do this. Their relationship wouldn't be able to grow at all with this secret in the way, and she knew it. And Erik had asked her to do it. She wouldn't have a chance at coming to love him unless she saw what was behind the mask.

With that last thought in her mind, Christine reached forward and tenderly removed the mask away from Erik's face.

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

First instinct told her to scream, but she found herself incapable of producing such sound. The entire left side of his face was dominated by marred flesh, barely stretching over his visible white tints of skull bone. His nose shrunk in, leaving a gaping hole in its place and his left eye, Christine noticed with horror, drooped slightly. How could one side of his face by so flawless, so untouched, and the other looking like death itself. Christine's blood drained from her rosy cheeks as she flew a hand to her mouth in shock.

"I knew it!" Erik seethed, quickly snatching the mask and positioning it back into its rightful place. Unshed tears burned in the backs of his eyes as he leapt from the Swan bed and over to the organ, where he pounded his frustrations away at its ivory keys.

Christine sat up in a daze and looked over at him, wobbling onto her feet. She shakily met him at his side and placed her hand caringly on his right shoulder. She winced as she felt Erik's muscles tense up underneath her touch.

"Erik…" she began, listening intently to his irregular breathing patterns. "You didn't even wait to see what I was going to say…"

"I had no need to," he ran his long, slender fingers over the instrument once more before looking over his shoulder at her, "you're face says it all."

Christine let out a frustrated sigh at him.

"Do not fret Christine; I had expected such a reaction. After all, since my own mother did not deem me worthy of _her _love—"

Christine waved her hand furiously in front of her face, begging for Erik to stop it. "I don't need this! _You _don't need this; and another thing— I am certainly _not_ your wicked excuse for a mother! So please, don't compare us in that way. In fact, don't compare us at all!" She lowered her hand just in time to see Erik raise his visible eyebrow at her.

Christine took a seat next to him at the organ bench and then turned to her side. She addressed him, "You want to know what I really think? The truth, Erik?"

His response was a dumb nod.

"To anyone, your face is…" Christine paused to collect her thoughts, "_surprising_. It _will_ take some getting used to. I cannot lie to you, there. But," she made a small smile, "for the people, who just see you and your outward appearance, nothing more…well, they're shallow. You wouldn't want to know them, anyway." Christine finished up her mini speech with a corny, 'It's what's inside that counts,' but she had never meant it more.

"And so, do you think of me that way? Do you think I'm shallow, Erik?"

"No! No, of course not!" he said, immediately afterwards.

Christine reached up to cup his cheek and then removed his mask again. Erik felt his pulse stop. He was about to turn away again, but his cat-like reflexes seemed to have dulled. Christine didn't notice however, as she lightly brushed her lips to his. They were like the faint touch of a beautiful butterfly. She then traced her lips over each inch of his face, making sure both deformed and perfect flesh were being equally graced by her kisses. Christine continued these actions until she tasted tears, not sure whether they were Erik's or her own. She reluctantly pulled back to look at him, thoughtfully. "Erik?"

Wet streak stains left their marks on his cheeks. He then broke into a thousand happy sobs. "Christine… Oh, Christine!" He murmured, suddenly wrapping his arms around her; bringing her to his enticing chest. Christine took a moment to inhale his scent. Erik smelt of ambers…it was delightful. She grabbed his shirt in her hands and snuggled her face into its silk-smooth fabric. Christine then felt Erik's chin resting in her curls. She sighed in peace.

"I love you, Erik…" Christine whispered shyly.

Erik took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes filled with such raging passion that it made Christine shiver with excitement. He then brought his lips to hers in a deep, captivating kiss.

_I just want you to know who I am_

_I just want you to know who I am_

_I just want you to know who I am_

* * *

**A/N**: Happy Father's Day, everyone! Time to go appreciate Erik, my husband… 

Erik: My dear, you didn't have to do anything!

Me: Nadir says he wants to play golf with you and the guys. I didn't know you had 'guys', Erik, nor did I know you played golf!

Erik: A man has to have a little mystery left in his life…

I suppose… Anyway, still open to song suggestions!

And my authors notes about Erik's eyes… I mean, really, look at the options! We've got:

Golden

Deep Blue/Cobalt

Mismatched (Blue/Green)

Turquoise

Wowww… and probably more.


	4. Chasing Cars

**A/N**: Next one is "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol. I'm going to use 2004 Gerik for this one, considering he knew Christine for years as opposed to three months. Ever lie in bed at night thinking about the first time that Christine received a rose? Well, those things go way back…

**Artist**: Snow Patrol

Chasing Cars

By: xSweet Allure

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet it the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill thy envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, art more fair than she."

Young Christine sighed and disappeared behind the side curtain.

Madame Giry tightened the grip around her ebony staff and strolled over to the child.

"My dear?" she asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. Never mind that Christine wasn't dancing, her face clearly looked distraught.

"I'm sorry, Madame. I just…I'm not feeling very…dance-ish this morning." Hands folded themselves daintily on Christine's lap. She averted Giry's gaze, for it might have been murderous; she didn't dare to look. Marie never allowed her ballerinas to rest unless they were near death or dying.

Christine chewed on her lower lip. Her lack of performance had now become increasingly noticeable to her fellow students.

Little Meg Giry twirled around on her heel and then swiftly stopped, "Christine's not dancing, Mama…"

There was a short silence.

The instructor then cracked her cane against the stage; Meg jumped, slid her way back in line with the others, and commented no more.

"Continue practicing, girls. Your unison is far from perfected!"

Everyone winced.

'_How does she do it?', _Christine thought to herself. How could Madame Giry's voice sound so intimidating; yet so kind at the same instant? She turned her head to the opposite side and listened to the billowing sound of a black dress as it spread over the occupied stage. Madame Giry had taken a seat beside her.

"Is something troubling you, Christine?"

The young girl shook her head all too quickly.

Such a reaction had rightfully caused the widow to be a bit skeptical. She raised her eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Christine played with her fingers, poking them shyly at the folds in her lavish 'Romeo and Juliet' costume.

"I don't feel well, Madame," she assured, voice wavering a bit. Christine inhaled a deep breath and continued to convince her just that. She _didn't_ feel well.

"I just need a moment. I'll be up in a minute."

Madame Giry nodded, realizing that Christine didn't wish to elaborate and then stood up and brushed herself off. "We'll be waiting for you, my dear."

After some alone time and finding herself in deep admiration for Romeo, as he climbed the balcony to place a gentle kiss on Juliet's lips, Christine tore her eyesight from the two lovers and went back to rehearsal. Meg briefly halted in her steps, making sure her mother wasn't looking, and then chanced a glance at her best friend.

"Christine!" Meg whispered excitedly, "Did you know today is—"

"Meg Giry!" A ringing voice cried across the stage, "Just what do you think you are doing? Keep in line, no talking!"

"Yes Mama." Meg bent back down and touched her toes, a very good stretch, and held back an exasperated sigh.

Little Jammes edged carefully towards Meg as Madame Giry looked away. "Oh, yes, it's Valen -"

Madame Giry's staff hit the floor with a booming, resounding bang. The actor studying his lines for the young Montague nearly fell off the catwalk.

Little Jammes gulped and decided what she had to say was not that important, anyway

The moment Meg saw her mother concentrating on someone else, she murmured hastily, "I'll tell you later!"

Little Jammes nodded enthusiastically, and Christine sighed.

She tried to focus on her dancing, but her mind kept wondering. Several times she was reprimanded by Madame Giry, but it was still a struggle to focus on the dance steps.

One-Two-Step. One-Two-Three-Step, Two-Three-Step.

Too late, Christine caught her mistake, and was rewarded by another shout from Madame Giry. The woman had obviously forgotten that Christine did not feel well.

"Christine! Try to focus!" Meg whispered quickly as her steps brought herself toward her friend. "Mother is getting impatient, and our last rehearsal is tomorrow!"

"I know." Christine said as she tripped over her feet again. Ever since her father had died, she had lost that sparkle in her eyes, a sparkle recently regained, but duller nonetheless. She preferred to think of other things instead of what was really happening, especially today, of all days.

It had been years since that horrible event, and yet every time she tried to live in a real life, the pain came back. She just couldn't focus.

At long last, the rehearsal was over.

Meg suddenly pulled her aside, gesturing for the other girls to join them.

"Guess what! Did you hear!" she retorted excitedly.

Christine raised her hand out in front of her face. "Meg, if it's another story about the "Opera Ghost," I'm really not in the mood."

Meg blinked in surprise.

She gave her a small, half-hearted smile and turned on her heel to leave. Looking over her shoulder and back at her friends, Christine answered Meg's speechless expression with a, "I'm just tired, Meg. If you need me, I shall be in my dressing room."

What had happened? Thinking back, her past had been much happier, and right now, she needed comfort. Christine walked to her dressing room door-not even sure how she got there- and turned the knob. She took one step inside, looked around and then softly shut the entrance behind her. Christine glided over to the bed, bounced onto it and then collapsed, closing her eyes for a bit.

"Angel, please hear me. I wish to speak with you…" Christine felt like smacking her forehead with her palm. You simply can't summon an Angel! Angels have far better things to do than consol depressing, little 15-year-old girls. She groaned and rolled over onto her side, gazing at her reflection in the body length mirror on the wall. Ha, she looked so blank!

Unknown to Christine, a pair of turquoise eyes were staring back at her.

Erik had watched her depart from rehearsals and was waiting for her arrival when she returned. Christine seemed more lonely today, if that were possible, and he figured that he might as well be prepared if she wanted to talk about it. And of course, he had been right.

"_Christine? What is wrong, my dear?"_

At the sound of his alluring, heavenly voice, Christine perked up immediately and broke into a wide smile. There was a small, flattering dimple on her right cheek; it seemed to brighten up her face. Her brown, beautiful locks hung over her shoulder, like a long, breath-taking waterfall. She was growing older, so much more different than that little girl Madame Giry had brought to the Opera. How could the years go so quickly?

Christine swung her legs over the side of the bed and sighed. "Angel, did you know it's Valentine's Day today?"

Erik felt a lump in his throat, making it almost impossible for him to swallow. There was a loud gulping sound radiating from behind the mirror.

Christine didn't seem to notice and pressed on.

_We'll do it all  
Everything  
On our own._

"Meg was trying to tell me that today was Valentines Day- **_is_** Valentines Day." Christine paused sourly. She grimaced. "I never really given much thought to the holiday except that it seems ridiculously pointless." Christine suddenly felt a surge of curiosity flow through her veins as she asked, "Do Angels celebrate Valentines Day?" The question sounded childish, even to her, but she couldn't help asking. That similar hotness spread across her cheeks when talking to him.

Erik was shocked so severely by Christine's question that it caused him to step back a foot. He had to collect his thoughts. When he didn't answer right away, Christine automatically assumed she had done something wrong.

"Angel," she cried. "Are you there?"

"_Yes, Christine. I am here, and I've heard you," _Erik responded with mild irritation.

Christine blinked in surprise at his tone but nodded slowly.

Erik's fists were clutched so tight into fists that his knuckles started to turn white. He was trembling, not out of anger but sadness. Pity for himself.

"_Angels are often so busy with their pupils, ma cherie… It's almost impossible for them to find…companionship. Love. Our entire existence is to educate our students." _'There', Erik thought, 'that gives her a good explanation on things.'

Christine crossed her arms over her stomach. It hurt when he called her a student. She wished she could be so much more than that. It felt like there was a burning whole starting to fester inside herself. Christine tried her best to sound normal. "I see…well…" She gnawed at her bottom lip. Curse it, her words sounded emotionless. "I'm sorry."

Worry lines made creases in Erik's forehead. He had taken note of Christine's changing mood.

But then she laughed, not a happy laugh- a hard one. "Father used to give me roses each Valentines Day. He told me that the other flowers all envied the rose because of its exceptional beauty." Christine pointed a finger in the air, "Father always gave me a red one. Red means love." She giggled again- happier this time. "Those days by the sea, I used to have an old childhood friend- that gave me yellow roses…yellow's for friendship, you know. And no matter what color or what meaning, I always loved the rose. So much that…" Christine hoisted herself off the bed and made her way over to the dresser where she quickly flew open the upper left-hand draw. Underneath her stockings and such (which made her blush considerably deeper), Christine grabbed a small mahogany box from inside the corner's edge. She placed it on the dresser and flung open the lid. Erik couldn't see very well.

Christine reached into the box carefully and ran her hand along the insides before delicately holding out a couple of dried up rose petals. "I save them. They just smell so pretty." Christine sniffed the two tiny red teardrops in her palm and frown. "Of course, even preserved, they lose their smell sometime or another." And they floated gracefully back into their container.

Erik stood there behind the glass in uncomfortable silence.

"Unfortunately, the man who used to give me there is…" No! Christine would not allow herself to cry in front of her Angel!

Erik wanted more than anything for him to comfort her. Such thoughts were sinful…

Christine inhaled a whoosh of breath. "But like I said, the whole holiday is idiotic…"

_We don't need  
Anything  
Or anyone_**  
**

Idiotic, humm? Well, when a woman said something was idiotic, they usually meant the exact opposite. Ladies were complicated like that. Erik turned the corner of his mouth up in a lop-sided smile.

"_Christine…why don't we practice one of your most recent pieces? Please get out the Romeo and Juliet script that I have placed conveniently on your nightstand."_

Christine gasped delightedly. Her Angel has been in her room? Sure enough, there was a thick stack of papers right where they sound be. Why hadn't she noticed them before?

Erik felt a strange stirring inside as Christine pranced over to pick up her script. He loved seeing her beaming like this…

"_Turn to Act II, Scene ii…"_

Christine obeyed without thought and then skimmed the page. "Juliet…" she murmured, "how I envy thee…"

If possible, this made Erik grow (exceedingly) pale.

-----

The dainty little tune trickled into his consciousness, abstractly melodic, each note separate and echoing within itself against the silence of his sleep. And that recurring chime, _ping – ping – ping_, with the evenness of a coin rolling down a staircase.

Erik opened his eyes. He was lying deep in a luxurious nest of cushions, in a bed with elegantly carved sides that curved up around him like a cradle. He sat up and tiredly rubbed his right eye. At the foot of the coffin was the music box, a cunning contraption surmounted with a little monkey in Persian robes. It must have been clockwork, for as the inscrutable little tune tinkled on, it brought the silver cymbals it held in its paws together with a tiny chime, _ping – ping – ping_.

Erik scowled and fell back onto the cushions. He was beginning to develop bruise-like circles under his eyes. He needed to get a peaceful sleep soon. Even an "opera ghost" needed his fair share of rest.

_Ping- ping-ping…_

"Would you please be QUIET, all ready?" Erik shouted. Talking to an inanimate object as if it were a person really did make him uneasy. Perhaps he _was_ a bit insane. As he heard his booming voice echo off the cellar's walls, he became increasingly aware that he was alone. It was painful. Erik sighed as the monkey's tune seemed to wind down to a faint 'hum.'

Alone.

Erik stared at the ceiling and winced. The world is a cruel place. The world shunned him the moment he was born. The world didn't care about his loneliness.

He WAS a ghost.

And these were not happy thoughts to have in the middle of the night.

Erik produced another deep sigh, trying to concentrate on the inside of his eyelids. Well, at least Valentines Day was over with. Curse the fool who had the ingenuous idea to celebrate people's love for one another. He laughed bitterly to himself.

Inside his cold mind, Erik began to see Christine. She had her arm extended outward, waiting for him to clasp her hand. A curly chocolate lock of hair, hung past her shoulder as she leaned forward in the darkness to smile at him. Her smile reached to the corners of her mouth, causing that flattering dimple to come out of hiding.

Erik's eyes snapped back open as he felt a unfamiliar heat rush through his body. What was this girl _doing_ to him? This was not the first time he saw Christine in his dreams.

_If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

Erik shivered, not because of the cold but because of what might be happening to him. The coffin suddenly felt a bit tight, so he swiftly maneuvered out of it and to his pipe organ. Music would surely calm him down. His long, graceful fingers span over the keys. He softly pressed down onto them, causing a low, melancholy sound to escape from the pipes. Erik stared back at the music box, his fingers levitating above the ivory rectangles. Madame Giry had given that to him on Valentines Day. But that seemed ages ago. . .

"_And no matter what color or what meaning, I always loved the rose. . ."_

There was a loud, glass-shattering sound as Erik pounded his fist onto the organ. He sprung from his bench and when to get his cloak and hat. The hat tilted slightly upward on the right side; its brim came down half-way over his left eye. He liked it because it created a feeling of mystery. Nobody would be able to recognize him in the dark. The shadow of the hat helped to reduce the gleaming of his white half-mask. He smirked and walked along, listening to the billowing of his cloak as it rustled across the stone floor behind him.

-----

"Romeo's so impulsive, don't you think? I mean, to kill Paris like that—"

"I think Paris was a threat to Romeo!"

"But does it matter? Juliet's dead!"

"Meg… Juliet is not dead, simply in a death-appearing sleep that would last a mere 42 hours until she can wake up again."

Meg raised her eyebrows.

"What?" Christine said defensively, "I like the story."

"He's a murderer, Christine; there is nothing you can say to justify that." She pointed out. A ha! Christine was silent, which proved that Meg won the debate. The little blonde ballerina stopped at Christine's dressing room door and followed her in.

Meg pushed herself up on to her tip-toes and kicked her leg into the air. "So," she said, concentrating on her dance move, "are you feeling better from yesterday?"

Christine shrugged.

"Oh, come on!" Meg whined, "Tell me what's gong on!"

"Nothing's going on," Christine assured, "it's just…" She made a face, "I miss my father, that's all."

Meg dropped several levels in happiness. "Oh," she realized, "Oh Christine, I'm so sorry! I didn't know-"

Christine patted the air in front of her with her hands. "Relax Meg. You can't be thinking about me all the time." She laughed hopelessly, "Don't look so upset."

Meg walked over to Christine and patted the back of her head. "Did your father and you do anything special for Valentines-"

Christine shuddered.

Meg chewed the inside of her mouth, "Christine! I did it again, didn't I? Talking about something like this. . . I just don't have a brain, anymore!"

"You certainly get yourself very jittery, Giry." Christine joked, watching Meg get nervous again. "My father used to give me roses."

"Really?" Meg squealed. "How pretty!"

"Yes," Christine agreed, going over to the dresser to show her friend the rose petal collection. She froze in mid-step.

On her dresser . . . was a yellow rose? A yellow rose tied with a black, velvet ribbon!

She picked it up and pulled the ribbon toward her, making a smaller-sized bow. Christine stared at it speechlessly, until Meg's voice made her jump.

"There's a note on there too," she informed.

Christine turned to look over her shoulder.

"Looks like someone has a secret admirer!" Meg skipped over to Christine's side.

"I. . .I . . Who? Did _you_?" She made a sharp twirl towards Meg.

"Don't look at me!" Meg smirked.

Christine gawked at the rose for a long while.

How much time had passed was uncertain.

"I think I'll leave you to your letter…" There was a click of a lock, a light breeze from the hallway and then Christine was alone.

She wasted no time in shuffling the note into her hand, ripping open the wax seal and reading the blood-red ink.

**  
**_I don't quite know  
How to say  
How I feel_

_Dearest Christine,_

_I feel it is my duty to apologize. If I had known about your love of flowers, I would have given you this rose on its appropriate day. . . However, I was thinking of you. That you can be certain of. It makes me happy to think that my rose will not go to waste. Save its petals, and I will not be able to wipe this smile off my face. _

_Happy Belated Valentines Day_

_-Your Angel_

_PTO- Romeo is quite the dashing man. . ._

Christine finished with a small chuckle and then looked back at the rose. It was yellow.

_Yellow_. . .

_Those three words  
Are said too much  
They're not enough_

And the dagger shot through her chest. She went to get a handkerchief to blot her silent tears. Tears. . . tears. . .

Her heart skipped a beat. "I need to get this in water!'"

_-----_

Erik grinned as he placed the twelve butterscotch-colored roses into a vase. Last night he had come up with the idea-not only to buy Christine one rose, but a dozen! Of course, she had to earn them, first. He liked to think of the flowers as a reward for her progressing career. Perhaps he would leave Christine another after her performance of "Romeo and Juliet". Who said the Prima Donna needed all the attention? Gluttony was not very appealing.

Erik walked over to the lake shore, got in the gondola and began his journey up to the surface, gripping a long, dark-green stem between his fingers. He rested the rose down on the inside of the boat, only to grasp onto the gondola pole and push off.

Christine was already in her room by the time Erik got there. He was panting lightly under his breath. For some reason, Erik felt he was late and the thought of Christine being let down displeased him. She always expected him to be waiting for her after a performance.

Of course, the conversation started out as it always did- Erik acknowledging Christine on her part, telling her that she will soar to great heights and that she made her fellow chorus girls want to hang their heads in shame. Christine blushed shyly and asked her angel not to flatter her so, but Erik declared that she must get used to the compliments, if she wanted to be a praised Prima Donna.

Christine glowed at the thought and went to get undressed for the night. Erik turned away, his gentleman instincts getting the better of him, and when Christine appeared from behind the changing curtain, his pounding heart slowed down a couple of beats.

"Oh, and thank you for…" Erik heard faintly, blinking a couple of times. It seemed to help him in trying to regain his focus.

"_What was that, my dear_?" Erik fought the urge to press his ear up against the glass for a better listen.

"It's beautiful." Christine repeated, pointing her finger to the rose he had given her.

Erik's eyes darted from Christine to the blossom. "_It is._"

"A stunning yellow rose," Christine said after a moment, putting a mild emphasis on the word 'yellow'.

Erik looked back at her and nodded slowly- a pointless movement for someone who is not to be seen.

Christine came closer to her bed and gazed down at it steadily. She yawned into her hand and pulled back the covers. After positioning herself up against her pillow, she said tiredly, "Angel, would you mind if I asked you something? I know I most likely irritate you will all these questions, but I thought there'd be no harm in asking."

Erik watched her dreamily as she pulled the blankets up to her chin. "_You may ask me what ever you like_."

She seemed reluctant to continue. "I don't know how to put this, but…" Christine looked so innocent as she cuddled further into the bedding. The blankets draped over her body, showing the soft outline of her toes and she curled them up and down. "Were you always an angel?"

When Erik did not answer, Christine restated, "Were you born an angel, or were you once human? I know it's a silly question to ask—"

"_No question is silly, Christine_."

A puzzled frown hovered over Christine's face. She looked uncertain. "I'm sure, if you were a man . . . you must have had a lot of lovers in your life." Her voice dropped several octaves, until it was nothing but a whisper, "Every woman must have been mad about you. . ."

"_I couldn't say_.. ."

She turned her head slowly in the direction of his voice, alarmed. "Oh! Angel! Have I made you upset?"

Erik laughed, despite himself. "_No, my child, I'm fine. However, it disappoints me to tell you that I cannot answer your question_." Erik mentally cursed himself, a lie already forming onto his lips, "_Any memories I've had of my life are only those of an Angel. I cannot say that I was once a man, for I do not know. Do you understand, Christine?"_

"I do..." she sad sadly, disappointment etched strongly in her features.

"_Now get some sleep, we have a busy day of practice, tomorrow._"

"Wait," she cried, afraid that he would leave her, "could you sing me a song before you go? I'm so overly-tired, I don't think I'll be able to—"

_If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

_"It'd be my pleasure, Christine."_

And Erik rocked her on the sweet tide of his music until she slept soundly in her bed.

A muffled snoring came from her side of the room, proving this fact. Erik made a swift turn of the mirror pivot and stepped mechanically inside. Never had he permitted himself to walk in on Christine's domain- but he refused to go back now.

He glided over to her side, his gloved clad hand stroking the air that brushed her cheek, but then lowered it in quick haste. He sat on the bed with his back facing her. Something seemed to be gnawing at his thoughts.

His kingdom lied in eternal darkness, many feet below the Parisian streets outside. Darkness and solitude had been his companions since the day he chose to turn his back on the world of men and create an empire that was solely his. Since birth, everyone had despised him, for it was clear- Erik's destiny was to be spent alone. He was a monster in every way possible.

_Forget what we're told  
Before we get too old  
Show me a garden that's bursting into life_

And yet, as he swept around to gaze at Christine (she had repositioned herself on her side), his curiosity overwhelmed him. By this girl's pure mind, she was ironically able to warp a demon into what she believed was an angel. This girl was living in a fantasy world in which she could not afford to wake up.

Erik's heart ached. Christine was the only woman who looked upon him in admiration, and to know that this whole thing was one big charade, it didn't make things any better.

Erik daringly withdrew the sheets from Christine's body and cradled her in his lap before she even had time to shiver. She continued to sleep in his embrace as though she had never been moved, and then, for a long time he simply held her. She was so light and fragile!

**  
**_Let's waste time  
Chasing cars  
Around our heads_

The yellow rose petals glowed in the darkness. They stood out around the pitch black night that surrounded them. The rose itself was already beginning to wilt. Erik glared at it sourly and then looked down at Christine. "What has brought you to me?" he whispered.

He waited, but no response was heard.

"Well, that's _my_ idea of a foolish question!" But no, the answer is what he feared.

Erik was frightened with the desire to hold Christine for all eternity, but the passage of time would forbid it, and her slight weight was gradually becoming intolerable. However, every muscle in his body wanted to scream out in protest. Erik laid her tenderly back onto the bed and tucked her in. Automatically, Christine molded back into her spot on the mattress. How he envied that bed, those blankets that were able to envelope her body. He was wickedly jealous.

Erik wanted Christine, all of her.

_I need your grace  
To remind me  
To find my own_

But oh, cruel world- it would not allow him to have her! And besides, this newfound lust he was feeling, lust was more forbidden than love. Lust was not love. Love was a profoundly amorous, passionate affection for another person. Lust . . . lust was lust.

Erik brushed a stray hair out of Christine's face and stood up. "I will remember tonight as it was, and think not of tomorrow."

Erik escaped behind the mirror.

------

Christine was now 17. By some miraculous phenomenon, two years had passed by without Erik even realizing it. He kept a calendar, but was still skeptical when he checked the days.

In two years, Erik had accomplished constructing a life-size mannequin of Christine, creating an art gallery dedicated to Christine and setting up a miniature model of the opera house, complete with mini Christine figurine and friends.

The key word here is being 'Christine.'

But no, he was NOT in love.

-------

"The Opera Ghost really doesn't like Carlotta, does he?" Meg laughed, still playing back the previous occurrences in her head. The new managers, the fallen backdrop, the angry Spanish diva storming out and demanding her doggie. . . Ah, the Opera Populaire was filled with some good, thrilling chaos!

"Meg. . . I don't know if I can do this!"

Meg scurried over to Christine, who looked as though she would faint if something was not done soon.

"What if . . . what if they don't like me? All those people . . . they're expecting greatness!"

"Do you seriously believe that Carlotta, the tone deaf Spaniard, is any better than you?" Meg howled at the thought. "You're perfect, Christine, that's why you have this part."

Christine allowed herself a chuckle, "I owe it all to my Angel!"

Meg nodded and asked, "Is he the one who sends you all those flowers? The yellow ones?"

Christine smiled.

"I see." She observed. "It feels late, I should leave you to get ready." The ballerina wished her friend luck, grabbed a chocolate from the box she'd been eating out of, popped it into her mouth and left.

"You know, those chocolates are mine!" Christine laughed into her hand.

"I'll buy you another box!" Meg called from down the hallway. Christine hurried to catch a glimpse of her before she disappeared down another passageway, shook her head playfully and closed the door.

_"Where does that Giry child store it all?"_

Christine jumped.

_"I didn't mean to startle you, my dear. . . Maybe I should come back later."_

His intoxicating voice made Christine want to groan.

"No! I mean. . . of course I want you to come back, later. I want to know if I've done well tonight. But please, stay?"

Erik cleared his throat. _"But surely you need to get changed?"_

"That's what a changing curtain's for." Christine blushed.

_If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

_"__I. . .Well . . . If you really want me to—"_

Christine grinned inwardly. So, she had a little power over him, too, eh? Excellent. "I want you to." She seemed to dance on air as she folded the elegant dress over her arm and pranced out of view. Erik could feel his cheeks grow hot as he watched articles of clothing being draped over the top of the curtain. He heard the soft rustle of fabric as Christine took her time getting dressed. Erik decided to take a seat on the floor, placing a hand over his exploding heart. How much could one man take? How far could he be pushed before he stormed in and pushed Christine up against a wall and kiss her? To please his burning passion?

"You know…" Christine's voice snapped Erik out of his mental meditation. "I had this dream once; I think I was 15 . . . have I ever told you about it?" Christine peeked out, as if she were expecting to see him. When she didn't, Christine sighed and went to fasten up her gown.

_"I don't believe so. . ."_

Christine had somehow ended up at her dresser. She was combing out her hair, smiling softly to herself. "I had this dream that there was this man in my room. He was holding me in his arms. I know I should have been scared, having a stranger in my room, but his touch just felt so right. . ." Christine stopped combing for a moment and looked into the body length mirror to examine herself. Unknown to her, Erik was staring back at her with wide eyes.

"I couldn't see his face very well, but from what I remember, half of it was beautiful." For some odd reason Christine couldn't explain, she felt the overpowering need to look down at her feet.

_Forget what we're told  
Before we get too old  
Show me a garden that's bursting into life_

_"And the other half. . .?_" Erik's voice sounded bitter.

"I don't know. It was covered by something." Christine pouted. "I just wish it hadn't ended so quickly. The next morning I found myself crying into my pillow. I was distraught all day, and your uncharacterized absence from me didn't make it any better."

Her voice sounded annoyed. This amused Erik beyond belief.

"Why are you laughing?" Christine hissed. "That dream was very special to me!"

_"I'm sorry Christine. Forgive me. I'm not quite sure why I'm laughing."_

'Maybe because of self-pity? Relief? Madness?', he thought.

"I thought I was seeing you!" Christine shouted.

Erik went silent.

_"Wha…what?"_

_All that I am  
All that I ever was  
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see_

Christine looked into the mirror with pleading, sad eyes- eyes that threatened to spill water.

"Why won't you let me see you? Haven't I earned that much?" The following worlds she spoke made Erik want to die of heart ache, "Don't you _trust _me?"

Erik pressed his fingertips against the mirror, the only thing that prevented him from touching her. It was his barrier, and curse it! "_It is not you I do not trust, Christine . . ."_

Wet streak marks were leaving stains on her cheeks. Her vision was blurred as she blinked tears out of her lashes.

_"Please, Christine. If you care about me at all, you won't ask me that. You can't see me just yet."_ 'Christine, don't kill me like this. I can't stand to see you hurt. . .'

_I don't know where  
Confused about how as well  
Just know that these things will never change for us at all_

"But why?" she persisted.

_"You will understand soon enough. . . "_

Silence.

_"Now, the performance is near, and you need to finish getting ready."_

"You'll come back later . . .?" Christine blotted her eyes.

_"Yes."_

And despite everything, she smiled.

--------

"Miss Daae! Miss Daae! Wonderful performance!"

Christine thanked them all generously and pushed her way through the crowd. Piles of bouquets were being thrown onto her arms, stacked so high, she was lucky to see where she was going. Madame Giry grabbed the top of her arm and led her safely to her dressing room.

"No! I'm sorry; Miss Daae isn't taking any interviews!" A reporter begged to get a word in, but Marie curtly closed the doors behind her. She looked exhausted.

"Here, let me take those for you," she insisted, taking the flowers from Christine and adding them to the thousands that already had swallowed up her room.

"You did very well, my dear. We are pleased with you." She placed the flowers into a vacant vase and went to arrange them nicely. The vibrant colors of the flora made everything seem alive and cheerful. Christine sat down on the bench in front of her vanity.

"I'd worked so hard, Madame."

The ballet instructor's hands froze in mid air, levitating over the flowers. She directed her attention to Christine and knelt down in front of her. "Clearly. You couldn't have done any better. Your singing made the angels weep, tonight."

Christine concentrated on her lap.

"You should be proud," Madame Giry reassured, cupping Christine's right cheek with her hand. "_He_ is."

Christine sat, uncomprehending, "He?"

Madame Giry nodded and went to exit out into the jungle of the Opera House. "Look on your dresser, my dear." And she left. The shouting and hollering became duller as the door clicked shut again.

Christine stalked stubbornly over to the bed. She knew what was waiting for her.

But she couldn't help but look.

She gasped.

It was a rose.

A beautiful RED rose.

The note was short but powerful.

_"For you-_

_**Always** for you._

_-Your Angel."_

_If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?'_

**FIN**

-----

**A/N**: Haha. I practically died on this site, haven't I? Did you miss me?

Anyway, three things-

One- I know the ending was pretty much predictable, but I couldn't resist. I have this thing with flower meanings, though I can't figure out what a pink rose stands for…

Two- I know Romeo and Juliet is not an opera, therefore it has no vocal parts, but hey, humor me.

And Three- I'm really hoping the French celebrate Valentines Day. But, why wouldn't they?

I worked super hard to get out on my dreaded writer's block, and the thought of getting no reviews discourages me. I miss my overflowing review box. Review and I'll give you Howard McGillin's autograph (The Phantom on Broadway (squee))

Always open to requests! And please excuse any typos or grammatical errors. I'm just way too lazy to proof read right now!

___________**  
**_


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